movies when he reviewed films for &quirenfrom I960 to 1966. He wrote inn1963: “One of the advantages of this jobnis that I don’t have to see many movies.”nThis, I suppose, helped reduce his levelnof choler; he isn’t as wont to savage someonenbecause of his or her looks or moniker.nMore importantly, Macdonald’s criticismnis grounded on something. Macdonaldnwas taken by the early Russiannfilm-makers when he was a young man.nAlthough he came to deplore the stultifyingneffects of communist rule on Sovietnfilms, he remained a partisan of socialismn, which is particularly evident in somenof his earlier pieces. He is convincingnbecause he is certain. A real shortcoming,nhowever, is that he starts soundingnhackneyed with his conviction that “thenHollywood director has nothing to say.”nHe uses the word Hollywood as synecdochenfor big business and poor films.nBut at least he is working from a consistentnpoint of view, albeit a faulty one.nThus he looks for the essence of a filmnfrom his particular perspective; once thatnperspective is acknowledged, then hisnpieces can be seen as being ideologicallynsound.nIhe film as an art form is often comparednto the novel. In an essay on Hiroshima,nMo«AOToarMacdonald explainsnthat cinema’s “macrostructure, its overallnmeaning, is novelistic: a story is told.nIn theatre this is also the case, but cinemanis closest to the novel because its essence isntime which can be treated in many waysn. . . and because the accumulation ofnrealistic detail is not only possible… butnis also, as in the novel, an essential part ofnthe medium.” Simon doesn’t see as closena tie between the two forms. For example,nin a piece on Play It As It Lays, directednby Frank Perry, based on the novelnof the same name by Joan Didion, Simonnpoints out that the film “is at annimmediate disadvantage vis-a-vis thennovel. It has to anchor the elusive, vaguelynsuggestive effect of the laconic wordsnin a specific, visually distracting placenand an equally specific and limitingntime, the duration of the film, whichn18nChronicles of Cultarencannot, like printed paragraphs, be lingerednover.” Although these views arencontrary, they point up an associationnthat will eventually be forgotten oncenfilm criticism is more sophisticated.nFilm is to the novel what painting is tonsculpture: not many consider a bust anthree-dimensional portrait. The associationnbetween the two is largely basednon chronology.nWhile the likes of Alain Robbe-Grilletnand Gore Vidal periodically announcenthe death of the novel, it’s more accuratento say that the novel is an established artnform that is by no means exhausted. Innthe realm of literary aiticism, bmsh warsnbreak out on occasion, and sniping isnfairly common between factions which,nfor example, say that Form is more importantnthan Substance, or vice versa. Atntimes, a new school of thought springsnup and voices become strident. For thenmost part, however, literary criticism is atna point where the critic can be concernednwith the text, the author or whatever henfeels should be analyzed, rather thannwith other critics.nFilm is still a neophyte and, consequently,nfilm criticism is less established.nThere is no uadition, so film critics tendnto fall back on terms from literary criticism.nSince they don’t like to appear de-nIn the torthciiiiiint; INMIL ol Lltrmmh of ( ulturenToward a WeltatischauungnI toriini Jill iiiii>iiiicil ill I’ rill «> \.\ • iii li> 111 JLTI I nil • lllll li llF’-l I nih ipli •> hill In llllniM( 111 lllll I OHM r iiiM>’ [iiu’>i 111 I < II’.’II,’ III I I lllll II!.n.iiiiini tu llll’ IM ini: itili IIJIK^HI II M iilil iii ili’ linnnrun LH ii^itul IO i|«i>>i.’IKII 11 I liiK III-> I^II’|.riiiiiilnili(]rspiiriiiu>>iliMiiiiiii (iiriiipiiiv Mi’lii lllllnhLiimnnnis .uiit ii>iiiiiJiii I’l.i liiiiiiaii linn. <-u’ InrlXnMri| .ifiil III vspipi 111 iiiiiii Ml iioi- In i ii’iiliiiiin111 iniilniii in llll iiiiiiiMiii jiliiii lilicnl •’i nu I’^piiinniiiM pti<[ili ” ri’.’Iii iw li>( i>’i llll II iii^n li ‘hi ‘uliniiinInniil will i] 11 Litiii jiinn Ml ill’ v ihl 111 llll III iii<>nlilisiilt’jnil ii:”ii’«.iil III iiiiriiK li I–III’.11 il I ^niiiliilnihi iliriil^’i ini 11 I’i lllll ii< llll iliL iii’iililiLi il I iiiiil, .iii’lnitriiiinl. in IIK ni.trk(ipl ii( (iiniMH’ niit<>i iii inIcill’.’ll IIK t>ppii|IUIIII> I’l lllll’ III llll hull kll ‘MlnMsn-Iriim iliL loinmtninh Paul (lotllriciln0|unioii«i £v iL-us— (iiiiiiiiciid.ibl«:s- In I IK USnVfaslc of Monc Fern;pjiblcs- -1 he iiicru.uinPn>sieiiiuiii —Stagi*—Sirctn — Vri- MUSKnCiirres[X)iiik’iKc -1 IIKTJI (. ultuK Journ.ilisinnSIKMI KcQisttrrnnn